


a latte problems can be caused when you cannot espresso yourself

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Nerd Derek Hale, Oral Sex, Rich Siblings Lydia and Stiles, meddling siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s exactly one hundred and forty-six minutes left until his shift is over in addition to another thirty-five minutes of leaving, biking home, racing up to his room and turning on his laptop so that he can check out the video Erica has sent him and it’ll be just about the longest evening shift he’s had. </p><p>--</p><p>Highschool/Coffee shop AU where nerd!Derek is crushing hard on rich!stiles but neither of them have the courage to act on their feelings. It's a good thing Lydia and Jackson are there to give the pair a necessary push.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a latte problems can be caused when you cannot espresso yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This is, SO overdue it's not even funny! 
> 
> So, remember the Sterek Campaign auction thing? This is one of the fics for that! 
> 
> This is the lovely and patient Faye's fic! She'd asked for a fic inspired from [this gifset](http://candypinkcocks.tumblr.com/post/75792514199/constileslations-rich-step-siblings-au%0A) involving Lydia and Stiles rich siblings au. In this AU, Derek comes from a poor family but attends the same prep school as the rich! martin-stilinski twins. She also asked for nerd!Derek who has a crush on Stiles but he knows he doesn't have a chance with Stiles. Stiles is also a regular at the cheap coffee shop Derek works at but Derek doesn't think it's anything special because their shop is close to the school so it's nothing special okay? But Lydia's totally fed up with her twin brother and confronts Derek!
> 
> I'm SO sorry I took so long and I hope this meets your expectations!
> 
> I wanna give the biggest shout out to Lauren for being the best beta ever! She's an ANGEL. And the coffee pun title was her idea X'D 
> 
> Special thanks to Brii, Greenberg and Stitch for cheering me on! I really couldn't have done this without you girls! And a special thank you to Willow for giving this fic a go over even though she's not really into Teen Wolf ( _and_ for giving some stellar suggestions that made the last half of the fic really great!)
> 
> Yes the horses are a shout out to one of my favorite Teen Wolf fics, [We Poured Mud Through Their Veins](http://archiveofourown.org/works/529930). I LOVE that fic. 
> 
> And yes, the DAR thing I snagged out of Gilmore Girls, God bless that show.
> 
> The underage tag is because both Derek and Stiles are under the age of consent. Stiles is 16, Derek is 17.

**From: Erica**

_???_

 

Derek stares long and hard at Erica’s text, frowning as he texts back.

 

**To: Erica**

_what’s the ??? for?_

 

While he waits for a reply, Derek leans over to check how Karen is doing. In a rare show of carelessness, his friend and co-worker had accidentally burnt the side of her hand against the espresso machine. The manager on shift had barked at Derek to take her back into the employee lounge and bandage the wound. But as soon as he had tried to do so, Karen had shot him a dark look and growled, “I’ll do it myself.”

 

Hell hath no fury known like a barista annoyed by her own sloppiness, Derek supposes as his screen lights up, notification light blinking. He looks away from where Karen is gingerly dabbing burn cream against the pink burn mark.

 

**From: Erica**

_havent u seen the video yet? i mailed u a link!_

 

Karen curses and huffs. Derek looks up to see her blowing her bangs out of her eyes and wonders for the nth time why she doesn’t clip them in place. She complains so much about them but never _does_ anything to fix them. That’s a character flaw for her, actually. Prideful and fond of complaining. Derek’s hoping she gets the internship she’s been boasting about for weeks now. The sooner she leaves, the happier Derek will be.

 

“You sure you don’t want me to help?” He asks, because no matter what Laura might say, Derek _hasn’t_ been raised in a barn.

 

The brunette mutters, “I’ve got it.”

 

 _‘Clearly,’_ Derek thinks sarcastically as Karen begins to clumsily wrap the bandage around her hand. With a small shake of his head, he shoots Erica a reply back.

 

**To: Erica**

_not yet. dont have a smartphone remember?_

 

“Tape this up,” Karen says abruptly, holding a small roll of tape between his face and phone screen. He jerks back, glaring at the girl, hoping she’ll realize she’s being rude, but Karen just makes an impatient noise.

 

Has he mentioned she’s got seniority on him and for some reason thinks that means she can boss him around? Derek bites his tongue and obediently puts the finishing touches on Karen’s bandages. As soon as he’s done, she’s wiggling her fingers and leaving the small room.

 

“You’re welcome,” he mutters under his breath, throwing the cream, tape and bandage roll back into the first aid box before remembering his reply to Erica. One hand shoves the box back into its place while the second one pulls up his friend’s text.

 

**From: Erica**

_U need 2 upgrade asap! its a video of ur boyfriend_

 

“Not my boyfriend,” Derek grumbles and texts the words back, suddenly impatient for his shift to be over.

 

There’s exactly one hundred and forty-six minutes left until his shift is over in addition to another thirty-five minutes of leaving, biking home, racing up to his room and turning on his laptop and it’ll be just about the longest evening shift he’s had. Usually, his shifts at The Coffee Joint go by fast enough. But today? It _drags_. And because the universe has a crappy sense of humor, there’s some accident on his usual route so he has to double back and take the longer route back home.

 

As he pedals as hard he can, rolling his left shoulder to get his backpack strap back on his shoulder, Derek thinks, _‘Stiles didn’t even come in today.’_

 

Stiles Martin-Stilinski’s visits are the highlight of Derek’s day. And while he’ll never admit this _out loud_ , they’re the best part of his day. Otherwise, Stiles would never give Derek a second look. They both attend the prestigious Beacon Hills Preparatory School (BHPS) but they run in completely different social circles. Furthermore, Stiles is a sophomore who plays lacrosse after school while Derek is a junior who has a job to get to once school is done.

 

He’d gotten a job at The Joint (an unfortunate moniker which led to more ‘joint’ jokes than any of the employees could take) soon after starting at BHPS.  It’s a small but cozy coffee shop, ten minutes away from BHPS. The coffee is cheap, but it’s good, ensuring them a steady stream of dedicated customers. It’s no Starbucks, but at the very least, the pastry selection is worthy of a few boasts.

 

It had been difficult in the beginning--juggling school and work--but after nearly two years, Derek’s gotten the hang of it. Balancing both aspects of his life _and_ learning how to make different kinds of coffee. Though he’s a lost cause at latte art, he’s gotten to a confidence level where he’s sure he can work the machines with his eyes closed.

 

The manager at the time had warned him about how the lacrosse team tended to flood the shop after practice sometimes and demand ridiculously complicated beverages. “Not every day, but it’s at least three times a week.” The manager, Nickie, had sighed tiredly, tucking zir hair behind zeir ear. “At least they always order the same thing instead of new things every day.”

 

That had been the first time he’d met Stiles.

 

Frankly speaking, it’s the kind of first meeting Derek wishes he could re-do. It’s not _bad_ , per say, but it’s not really _good_ either. What had possessed to him ask, “like Harry Styles?” after Stiles had rattled his order off and gave his name. He can’t forget the shocked look Stiles had given him before bursting out laughing.

 

“I like him,” Stiles told the manager with a grin. “He’s got a sense of humor.”

 

Derek didn’t realize who Stiles _was_ until the next day in school. He’s waiting for his tour guide, Isaac, to finish talking with his friend Boyd, indifferently observing the other students filling up the hallway. That’s when he caught sight of Stiles, animatedly talking to a dark haired kid with a crooked jaw line.

 

He must’ve made some kind of noise, because it caught Isaac and Boyd’s attention.

 

“Who you looking at?” Isaac asked.

 

Boyd pointed at the boys, who were then horsing around in the middle of the hallway (making several people yell at them). “You know them?”

 

Derek made a face. “The guy on the left came to the place I work yesterday. I might have compared him with Harry Styles.”

 

Isaac immediately cracked up. Boyd’s reaction was less loud, but he was sporting a wide, amused grin. “Like the boy band guy, right? Nice.” He nodded approvingly.

 

“What are you laughing at?” Erica asked from behind Derek. “Or who?”

 

Boyd quickly explained since Isaac was busy leaning against his locker, wiping away amused tears. Erica looked torn between amusement and horror. “You dissed one of the most popular kids in school without meaning to? You’re really something.”

 

Her vaguely impressed tone made Derek look away muttering, “It’s not like I was trying to diss him. And I didn’t know who he was!”

 

“I knew you weren’t listening to me when I was telling you who was who yesterday,” Erica said, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Listen, you don’t _ever_ mess with the Martin-Stilinski twins, okay? Their dad’s the Sheriff and their mom’s friends with _all_ the other moms! They could make your life _miserable_ if they wanted. And I’m talking _beyond_ school okay?”

 

The girl quickly gives him the rundown when Derek gives her a dubious eyebrow raise.

 

Stiles is Lydia Martin-Stilinski’s twin brother, meaning Stiles’ friends are people like Allison Argent, Danny Mahealani and Jackson Whittemore (part of their small group also includes Scott McCall, but he’s not rich like the others. He’s on academic scholarship like Derek, and has been friends with Stiles since freshman year). Lydia and Allison are best friends. Allison is pre-dating Scott McCall. Lydia is in an on-again, off-again thing with Jackson. Danny and Jackson are best friends from childhood.

 

They’re all from good, _rich_ families and are considered part of the ‘elite’ crowd. Jackson’s parents are high class lawyers, busy professionals who make sure to take time out to attend some of their son’s games (and rich enough to gift their seventeen-year-old a fucking _Porsche_ at his last birthday). Danny’s mom is an architect and his dad a stock broker. The twin’s dad is the county Sheriff while their mom is on the board of some big company (McCall’s mom is a doctor or nurse at Beacon Hills Memorial).

 

Most students come from well off families yes, but that particular group? Their families are obscenely rich. It’s the most commonly associated word with the foursome.

 

Although in Allison Argent’s case, the term ‘scary’ also gets thrown around. It’s common knowledge the Argent’s are gun dealers, providing arms and ammunition to the local police squad and having several government contracts. Derek’s heard quite a few rumors speculating whether or not the family has links to the Mafia.

 

The boys of the group are all part of the school’s lacrosse team, Jackson being team captain and Danny the goalie. Stiles and Scott are second-line, more often sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bench during games. Sometimes they get a chance to actually play. Not that it matters to Derek, because his shifts often clash with game timings.

 

They’re all smart, good looking and brimming with attitude ( _‘Some more than others,’_ Derek snickers as he thinks of Jackson). Lydia heads the Yearbook committee and school newspaper and is the smartest girl in school. Allison’s captain of the school’s archery team. There’s rumors about her training for the Olympics. Stiles and Scott are known pranksters, frequently toeing the line, but never crossing them into flagrant rule breaking. And none of them tolerate any kind of bullshit.

 

As a result of Erica’s lecture, punctuated with several horror stories where the ‘Elite 4’ had run several people out of school for ‘pissing them off’, Derek was on the edge for the rest of the _week_. He’s wary opening his locker, ready for a shaving cream bomb or worse. He checked his seat thrice before sitting down. He even avoided the cafeteria, scared of being pranked in front of the whole school. Instead he made an excuse about needing to study for an imaginary test in the library.

 

But nothing happened.

 

Nothing _bad_.

 

No one cornered Derek by his locker, in the cafeteria, or the parking lot. However, Stiles _does_ become something of a regular face at the Joint after that. The day after their first meeting, Stiles showed up with damp hair and flushed cheeks, greeting Derek with a happy, “One-D guy!”

 

Now if he’s completely honest? Derek doesn’t really get how they went from that to where they are now--Derek greeting Stiles first, heart thudding excitedly in his chest as Stiles bounces up to the counter, chattering excitedly about this new book he’s read that Derek “just _has_ to read!”

 

Some nights Derek thinks about it and yeah, he still doesn’t get it. Derek remembers trying to apologize to Stiles, but Stiles had brushed his apology aside, joking, “I look kinda boy bandy, don’t I?”

 

Derek remembers looking Stiles up and down and shrugging helplessly. “It’s the hair,” he remembers replying.

 

He also remembers the way Stiles threw his head back and laughed before declaring, “I like you! What’s your name? You go to BHPS too, right? I think I’ve seen you around campus.”

 

After that, the memories have blurred together. Derek recalls various instances of Stiles’ sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he skids up to the waiting counter, a thick book in hand and crazed gleam in his eyes. Derek remembers all the times he’s been forced to share the corner table with Stiles, muttering, “I’m not supposed to be taking my break out here,” but ultimately agreeing to the boy’s puppy dog look and pleas for help.

 

“You’ve got a scholarship, right? That means you’re smart and I need your help!”

 

Derek imagines himself having a giant lollipop for a head every time he gives in to Stiles’ begging, wondering if he’s got a neon sign blinking over his head saying ‘Sucker’ too.

 

There’s a particular memory of a rainy Thursday where Stiles stayed till Derek’s shift was over and gave him a ride home.

 

Derek remembers trying to argue with the teenager, stubbornly maintaining it wasn’t any trouble biking through the rain. But Stiles had won (Derek doesn’t know what he’d been thinking going up against one of the best members of the school’s debate team). He remembers how his stomach kept twisting itself into knots as they drove on, passing past the pretty, _big_ houses until they finally reached the Hale house.

 

He remembers clenching his jaw when Stiles’ curious eyes taken in the simple house. It’s an ordinary looking house, same as the rest of the houses on the block. Two stories, paint fading and peeling from the porch banister, giant oil stain in front of the garage. It looks worse through the dark rain for some reason.

 

It’s Derek’s home and he _loves_ it. But in that moment, sitting next to Stiles in his vintage Jeep and tailored uniform, Derek’s ashamed of where he lives.

 

God help him, but he is.

 

“Don’t you say a word,” Derek says fiercely, scowling heavily at Stiles, daring him to say one bad thing about his home. Yes, it might not be anything like the Martin-Stilinski house (which is huge and sprawling, painted a pristine white, and has a giant pool in the backyard), but his mom and dad have worked hard to maintain the home for their kids.

 

He remembers Stiles turning his head around so fast he’d wondered if Stiles had given himself whiplash. Derek also remembers the way Stiles’ eyes widened with shock and then filled with hurt. “I’d _never,_ dude!” Stiles sounds _offended_ , like he can’t believe Derek just said that. “I was just wondering about your family.”

 

“What about them?” Derek remembers feeling so wary, ready and expecting some thoughtless and hurtful comment from the rich kid.

 

Instead, Stiles asked, “Do you have any siblings? I just. We’ve hung out all this time and I don’t know anything about you. I mean, not really. Like, I know a lot of stuff about you like how you’re a total history nerd and you wanna study that in college, but I don’t know anything about _you_. You know?”

 

So Derek told him about his family. Talked about his dad working from eight to eight, his mom holding two jobs, his Uncle Peter who’s been staying in the basement after his divorce three months ago, his older sister who studies at a college near enough she can visit every weekend, and his younger sister who is at BHHS. And Stiles listened with rapt attention. The way he looked at Derek as he talked, Derek faltered momentarily because you’d think he’d been talking about Stiles’ favorite subject instead of his family.

 

That had been the first time he’d seen _that_ smile on Stiles’ face - the soft, unreadable upturn to his lips which made Derek’s breath stutter. “They sound great.” He remembers hearing Stiles over the sudden nervous pounding of his heart. The hopeful lit to his voice is something which Derek sometimes puzzles over, like right now as he catches sight of his home. The way Stiles had said the three words, they carried something with them... like he wanted Derek to pick up on something.

 

Derek hops off his bike, frowning as he pulls it up the stairs before letting it rest against the wall. It’s been months and he still can’t figure out _what_ Stiles had meant. He’s thinking about Stiles, as he’s prone to doing these days, when he walks into the home and announces his arrival. The first thing he hears is Cora and his mom arguing. Derek takes a moment to stand in the hallway and listen, shaking his head tiredly when he realizes it’s the same old argument - Cora hating how she’s given Laura’s hand me down’s while Laura gets new stuff.

 

“It’s not fair!” He’s almost up the stairs when he hears Cora shout.

 

“I’m sorry if you feel that way, but we can’t afford to buy you a new laptop right now,” is his mother’s sharp and immediate reply. “I keep telling you to take better care of it, but you keep dropping it!”

 

Derek hurries to his room, too tired and uninterested in hearing a rehashing of the same old debate. Cora will complain about the laptop being messed up despite her clumsiness, his mother will tell her to follow Derek’s example and find a part-time job to save money for a new laptop, and Cora will whine about no one hiring. It’s a monthly fight, one he and his dad have learned to avoid by now.

 

He drops his backpack down on the chair before pushing the laptop lid open. Before he begins to undress, Derek makes sure to check the charger is plugged in before hitting the power on button. It’s Laura’s old laptop, a blue Toshiba that struggles and groans whenever Derek has a word processor and a video player running at the same time. And the battery has crapped out, meaning it has to stay plugged in _all the time_ now.

 

Derek wonders how much longer the charger will last. It’s already at the stage where he’s forced to tape the wire in a certain position to ensure it will work, or else it’ll futz out. He decides to order a new charger along with the new battery he’s got his eye on. Might as well. After that, his brain is busy cataloguing all the school work he has to do, thinking about the history reading, english paper he needs to re-read, not to mention the math problem set--wait. He looks down at his pants that he’s halfway through taking off. More precisely, Derek stares at the hole his fingers are wriggling through.

 

Distress floods him when he notices the size of the hole. “Shit,” he curses, hurriedly yanking the slacks off before examining the tear more closely. It’s an odd tear--a clean L shaped cut high on his left thigh. _‘How’d that happen?’_ Derek wonders, gently putting the flap back into place, _‘I wonder if mom can stitch this up.._.’

 

He quickly puts on a pair of jeans and his most comfortable, most ratty t-shirt before sticking his head out his room. The yelling has died down. Derek takes a chance and heads downstairs, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of the argument to start again. There’s no way he wants to be dragged in the middle of a fight between his mom and Cora.

 

As he walks through the living room, he finds a stormy faced Cora glaring at the TV, Peter sitting next to her, his eyes lowered to the newspaper in his lap. From the kitchen come the sounds of pots and pans angrily clanking together. Oh boy. Dinner’s going to be bad tonight, isn’t it?

 

“Mom in the kitchen?” Derek asks.

 

Cora grunts and changes the channel. Peter’s face lights up, gesturing with one hand for Derek to approach. “Derek! Just the person I need! Tell me, which horse sounds luckier to you? The Yogimeister or Nine Yard Run?”

 

Derek shares a quick look with Cora before reminding his uncle, “If dad finds out you’re picking out horses again...”

 

“But he’s not here is he,” Peter sing songs, before leaning over to ask Cora. “What about Powerful Mars?” Derek gives up and walks over to the kitchen.

 

“Who even names these horses?” Cora asks as Derek walks into the kitchen.

 

His mother is pulling something out of the oven, face dark with worry. “Smells nice,” Derek says, hoping the simple praise will lighten her mood.

 

Sadly, it doesn’t. She frowns harder, poking the roast with a barbeque fork before sighing. “I think I let it stay in the oven too long.” She gives him a wry smile. “Think anyone will notice?”

 

“Uncle Peter probably.” Derek grins weakly. “You know him. He’s not happy if he’s not complaining about something.”

 

She lets out a bark of laughter. The quick laugh makes her look years younger. Derek feels pride well in him at the sight of his mother laughing. “How was school?” she asks, heaping the mashed potatoes into a waiting bowl. “And work?”

 

“Good and good,” Derek answers honestly before biting the bullet. “I ripped my pants today. I don’t know when or how but...” He walks over to her, holding the slacks out toward her. “Right there, see? I was wondering if you could stitch them up?”

 

The long, tired sigh his mother lets out makes Derek feel bad. He should have been more careful of his uniform. He’s only got two pairs of slacks, and the second one is in pretty bad shape too. His mom fingers the tear, frowning even as she nods. “I could. If I use the same color thread as the pants I don’t think anyone’ll be able to tell it’s stitched up. Wait a minute...”

 

Derek stares as she turns the slacks inside out and discovers another rip. This one is under the belt loops, on the back. “When’d _that_ happen?” Derek asks, staring worriedly between the tear and his mother’s puzzled expression.

 

“They’re your pants. What are you asking me for?” She snorts before shaking her head. “Sorry, Derek, it looks like you’ll need new pants. We’ll get you a new pair before Monday okay?”

 

He thinks of the argument his mom and Cora just had, guilt flooding him when he recalls how tight money is. “It’s okay. I’ll get them myself,” Derek says gruffly. The laptop battery can wait. So can the charger.

 

The look his mom gives him is complicated, but he reads it with ease. He’s only been receiving it for two years now. It’s sad and happy, filled with pride and some shame. “Are you sure? We can manage to get your a new pair of pants at least.”

 

He shakes his head and smiles, “I’m sure.”

 

As she rolls the pants up into a messy ball, she replies, “I washed the second pair today. I’ll iron them after dinner. Get Cora and set the table up.”

 

Derek frowns. “What about dad?”

 

“He’ll be late.” She sighs. “Something about some meeting he can’t miss.” She gives Derek a wry look. “Your dad is working pretty hard to get a promotion.”

 

He has to bite his tongue to keep from sarcastically asking if this is the same fabled promotion his dad’s been trying to get for the past two years. Derek swallows the bitter words down, walking out to grab his little sister.

 

Dinner is, thankfully, a quiet affair. Cora scowls at her plate, his mom almost dozes off listening to Peter ramble on about his job search activities, and halfway through, Derek remembers the video link Erica sent him. So he scarfs down his food before zipping away, using his homework as an excuse. Sometimes, it pays to be studious--only sometimes.

 

A few minutes and one locked door later, because Cora’s twice as nosey than Laura (which is saying something, mind you), Derek’s got his headphones on and the video buffered. With one last glance at the door to ensure it’s locked, Derek hits full screen and then play.

 

It’s a minute and thirty-nine seconds video made from Jackson’s phone. The camera is focused on Scott, Allison, Danny, Danny’s boyfriend (Derek assumes it’s Danny’s boyfriend), Lydia and Stiles. Jackson asks the group a question, something about which person, of the same sex, they’d like to have sex with, but Derek’s attention is locked on Stiles. The teenager is lounging in the corner - feet pushing against a table, knees pointing up, legs spread wide open, arms clutching a throw pillow and dark shades glinting under the bright sun.

 

Derek tries to keep his mind from rolling into the gutter when Stiles’ mouth falls open in a delighted hoot of laughter when Scott says Andrew Garfield. “Nice!” He leans over the others to exchange a quick high five with his best friend.

 

Derek misses Allison’s answer, more interested in the way Lydia is sliding her fingers through Stiles’ hair and how Stiles leans into her touch. It must feel good, because Stiles’ expression shifts, head dropping back against Lydia’s arm that runs around his shoulder, knees falling as well. Derek stares at the open V of Stiles’ legs and wonders how if it’s not Stiles’ mouth wide open, its his legs.

 

He blinks, wiping his bottom lip when Stiles crosses his legs, chuckling at whatever Lydia’s whispered in his ear before cheerfully admitting he’d love having a threesome with Emma Stone and Michael B. Jordan. Derek needs a minute to imagine _that_ before quickly adjusting himself through his jeans. _‘Later,’_ he tells himself, pulling his cellphone out to shoot a quick thanks to Erica for the video link before plugging it in for charging. _‘Before I sleep._ ’

 

It takes a while to get his brain out of its Stiles induced haze, but Derek manages to focus on his work. He works well into the night, going downstairs to greet his dad when he hears the car pull up, and falls asleep dead tired but satisfied. Derek’s last thought before he passes out is how glad he is that he doesn’t see Stiles that often in school, or else he’d have a hard time explaining why he can’t meet the younger boy’s eyes.

 

The next day starts and goes like any other day. Classes drag on, lunch is a trial thanks to Erica’s teasing, and work is work. Derek cleans the tables, makes sure the machines are spotless and the counter sparkles while hoping Stiles comes in today. Stiles has been coming in every day now for the past two weeks. And he’ll often stay until Derek’s shift ends, giving him a ride home. The extra 10 minutes are filled with them arguing over the newest comic they both have read, often ending with Stiles tutting Derek’s Marvel slant. Derek in return taunts Stiles’ DC choices, saying he needs some ‘hope’ instead of the cliched ‘dark and gritty’ stories.

 

Derek feels silly about feeling so excited at the prospect of just _talking_ to someone about a shared interest. And he can’t wait to ask Stiles if he’s given Young Avengers a try like the boy had promised in their last meeting. He’s thinking about this, about what Stiles might say about the run (Derek’s confident Stiles will come in _gushing_ over Billy and Tommy), when the front doors open.

 

He looks up, smiling reflexively. The smile freezes a moment when he realizes Lydia Martin-Stilinski and Jackson Whittemore have walked into the Joint. While many of the prep school students offer their patronage to the Joint, Lydia and Jackson have never once stepped foot in the small shop. It’s the equivalent of Zeus and Hera visiting the home of a lowly mortal.

 

It’s a terrible comparison to make come to think of it. Derek feels his smile strain as he steps up to the counter, ready to take their orders. “Welcome to The Joint. My name is Derek. Can I take your orders, please?”

 

Jackson’s got his arm around Lydia’s shoulder, glancing distastefully at their surroundings as he ignores Derek altogether. “Did we have to come here? Starbucks is another ten minutes away!”

 

“I want a coffee and I want it now. I’m not waiting ten more minutes for it,” Lydia snaps back. Ah, to be rich (and spoiled). “Cafe mocha, no fat, half-caf, extra foam, and cinnamon on top.”

 

“No caramel?” Jackson asks as he pulls his wallet out.

 

Derek looks to Lydia questioningly, fingers hovering over the till, but the girl shakes her head with a grim expression.

 

“Suit yourself.” Jackson shrugs, handing a crisp twenty over. “Americano and a ham sandwich.”

 

With a nod, Derek totals their bill up. The till pops open right as Jackson mutters, “I hope I don’t get food poisoning. You can’t trust small places like these, Lydia. They’re a total health hazard.”

 

Lydia rolls her eyes. “We’ll be sitting over there,” she tells Derek, not waiting for a response before walking over to an open window table.

 

In a bit of a daze, Derek hands Jackson his change and turns to get their drinks ready. “You know them?” he hears from behind him.

 

Karen’s subtly watching Lydia and Jackson from behind the espresso machine.

 

He frowns and half shrugs, checking under the counter for the non-fat milk. “Kind of. They’re from my school. Popular kids.”

 

Clarity blooms on the girl’s face before Nickie comes to check how they’re doing. Under zir’s watchful eye, they keep the conversation to minimal. Derek places the couple’s order on a tray and quickly takes it over to the table. He’s a couple of steps away when Jackson slides out of his seat and walks away, phone pressed to his ear.

 

Derek pays the blond no mind, quickly putting Lydia’s order in front of her before doing the same for Jackson’s. He’s acutely aware of Lydia’s sharp eyes studying him. It makes him feel like a bug under a microscope.

 

“You’re Derek Hale right?” Lydia asks suddenly.

 

His hand jerks in response, making the plate he’s holding clank against the table. They both stare at the heavy plate before looking at each other. Derek glares to hide his nerves, silently relieved he’d put Jackson’s coffee down or else his twitch would have sent it falling to the ground.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Derek’s ready to walk away when Lydia continues. “You know my brother right? Stiles?”

 

Is that a trick question? Derek weighs Lydia’s question and her poker face, wondering what’s her angle. “Everyone knows him,” Derek hedges.

 

The corner of her painted lips turn up, like she can see through this attempt to avoid a direct answer. “I meant, _know_ him-know him. He drops by this place after practice, doesn’t he? I’ve heard him talking about you.”

 

A fizzle of happiness darts down into his stomach and turns into warmth. Derek’s not sure he’s hidden his pleasure well enough at this information, because Lydia’s smile sharpens. “So?” Derek asks after clearing his throat. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“It doesn’t mean anything that Stiles drops by here every day?” Lydia repeats, tone and expression mocking.

 

Derek glares, and snarls, “Of course it doesn’t. I can name five other people who’re here every day. We have good coffee and stuff and we’re cheap.” The Joint is the closest coffee shop to their school, meaning almost every kid from school has, at one point or another, stopped by for a coffee. There is _nothing_ special about Stiles’ coming here every day, especially not in the way Lydia seems to be implying.

 

He might have been repeating this to himself for the past few weeks in the hopes that he’ll actually believe it. But there’s only so much a lie can do against hope. And Derek’s been hoping so hard. He realizes that what he’s doing is dangerous for his heart. There’s a chance Stiles does like him, it’s there (Derek _hopes_ he hasn’t been reading the signs wrong). But realistically speaking, he doesn’t think he and Stiles are feasible.

 

Just look at their backgrounds; Derek’s from a family that’s pretty much living hand to mouth, with parents who are breaking their backs to make sure their kids get the best education they can whereas Stiles’ family is as rich as you can get. The debt Derek’s family has incurred would probably be pocket change to the Martin-Stilinski family. They’re just...their backgrounds are too different.

 

Plus, Derek doesn’t have any time to date anyone. He’s got school work, work _and_ senior year is around the corner. He’s not like Lydia. Derek’s got to work hard for his grades.

 

See. There’re so many reasons why he and Stiles can’t be a thing.

 

Derek pauses and suddenly questions how his brain went back down that particular train of thought.

 

Lydia rolls her eyes, completing the show of exasperation by shaking her head. “I can’t tell if you’re being deliberately obtuse or genuinely blind.”

 

If he were a cat, Derek’s confident his hackles would rise at this point. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

There’s a long sigh from behind him. “It means,” Jackson drawls as he slides back into his seat next to Lydia, “you’re a bigger idiot than McCall if you can’t tell Stilinski’s got a crush the size of the Sun on your nerdy ass.”

 

Derek suddenly understands what the phrase ‘feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under your feet’ means.

 

“Jackson!” Lydia frowns at her boyfriend.

 

He needs to sit down for a minute.

 

Derek stumbles into the empty seat across Jackson, staring at the boy as he shrugs unapologetically. “It’s true. McCall’s kinda slow at picking some stuff up. He’s got that problem.”

 

They have to be pulling his leg, right?

 

“You’re just jealous Allison didn’t even look at you and went straight for him.” Lydia sniffs, flipping her shiny hair over a stiff shoulder.

 

It’s one thing to suspect that the guy you like might like you back, but another to hear that guy’s twin sister come up to you and _tell_ you.

 

Jackson splutters loudly. “That has _nothing_ to do with this!”

 

Stiles has a _crush_? On _him_?

 

“So you’re not mad about that? _Or_ that Coach is planning on making him the co-captain because he’s good at using his head during the games, _and_ helped him make a few plays up?” Lydia snarks, an eyebrow arched high in challenge.

 

Is his face turning red? It sure feels hot.

 

Jackson angrily unwraps his sandwich and takes a huge bite, chewing hard. Lydia smirks triumphantly, the expression shifting into confusion when she sees Derek. “Are you okay?” she asks warily.

 

Not really, but Derek doesn’t trust his body (or brain) to give a proper response. He’s sure if he opens his mouth, the frog in his throat is going to croak loudly. It’s not going to be pretty.

 

He can feel his mouth falling open, ready to answer Lydia, when the shop’s front door slams open.

 

Everyone starts, Karen hurriedly muffling her curses when some of the hot coffee splashes onto her hand. Everyone in the shop, including Derek, Jackson and Lydia, toward the entrance and stare at Stiles’ who stands there, in his lacrosse uniform, panting as his eyes roam the small shop.

 

 _‘What’s Stiles doing here?’_ Derek wonders right as Stiles catches sight of him sharing a table with Lydia and Jackson. Panic, shock, and something else flits across the teenager’s face before he’s stomping over to them. _‘Isn’t he supposed to be lacrosse practice?’_

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?” Jackson asks boredly, eyeing his coffee distrustfully before taking a careful sip of it. The faint edge of pleasant surprise lurking in his eyes has Derek sitting up with pride. “How’d you sneak out without Finstock catching you?”

 

“I owe Danny a favor,” Stiles answers quickly before pointing a finger at his twin, who is daintily drinking her coffee. “ _You_!”

 

Lowering her cup, Lydia answers, “Full sentences would be nice Stiles. I’m a genius, not a mind reader.”

 

Derek wants to lean across the table and ask her if it’s wise to aggravate Stiles when he looks two seconds away from hitting someone.

 

“Some twins _can_ read each others minds--and we’re gonna do that one day--but that’s not what I’m here for!” Stiles hisses, “You promised you wouldn’t interfere!”

 

“And I didn’t!” Lydia’s smile is as fake as fake can get. “I just wanted coffee, and this shop was right here.”

 

“You _promised!”_ Stiles insists in a hurt voice, body shaking with a trembling that has Derek wanting to stand up and hug Stiles. He’s never seen Stiles look so upset. Never.

 

Lydia’s gaze softens. She reaches out to touch Stiles’ hand, squeezing her brothers fingers. “I did keep my promise.”

 

Debatable, Derek wants to argue.

 

It’s an unexpected twist when Lydia nods at Jackson, who is pushing the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “But _he_ didn’t make any promise like that.”

 

Stiles’ mouth falls open. The sight of it reminds Derek of _several_ dirty fantasies he’s had, causing him to squirm uncomfortably. While he’s busy trying to drag his mind out of the gutter, Lydia and Jackson get up and leave. Derek looks up to catch Jackson pushing Stiles down into his vacated seat. He blinks at Lydia patting Stiles’ hair like a child, telling him, “I’ll expect a fabulous birthday present this year in return for this. You’re welcome.”  


“All my birthday presents are fabulous,” Stiles mutters weakly, but the couple is long gone. Stiles and Derek are left alone at the table, slowly turning to look at each other.

 

What the hell is he supposed to do? Panic writhes in his stomach, causing sweat to break out behind his neck. Only in his wildest dreams has Derek imagined this scenario. However, in his fantasies, Stiles doesn’t look so terrified and Derek had been a lot more suave. And they hadn’t been in the middle of the coffee shop, left shaken to the core thanks to Hurricane Lydia and Jackson.

 

“Derek!” Karen snaps from behind the counter. Derek jumps, turning around to look at the girl. “You’re supposed to be working!”

 

His mouth drops open, glancing between Karen’s angry expectant glare and Stiles’ shocky expression. Derek gets the feeling if he, if _they_ don’t talk about this right now, then this is it. Their story, whatever it’s going to be, will be over before it’s even begun.

 

He pushes himself onto his feet, chair legs screeching against the floor. “I’m taking my break now,” Derek says firmly. Karen looks thunderous, but Derek ignores her. He reaches across the table to grab Stiles’ wrist. The way Stiles blinks at his wrist is stupidly endearing.

 

“C’mon.” Derek nods towards the break room. “We can talk in there.”

 

Stiles nods and follows dumbly, cleats clacking noisily against the floor. Derek silently hopes they aren’t leaving marks behind on the floor. Hopefully the manager won’t be _too_ mad. _‘I’ll need to talk to Nickie before Karen does,’_ Derek decides, pushing the door open.

 

A quick sweep around the room reveals they are indeed alone. Derek sighs in relief, chest rising and falling under his dark blue apron. He turns around and his relief instantly turns into a nervous panic. Stiles is standing in the middle of the small break room, looking so out of place in his lacrosse gear and tentative expression.

 

“So,” Stiles begins, cleats dragging noisily against the floor. Derek winces when he catches sight of the scratches they’ve left behind. Stiles notices his expression and looks down as well, cringes harder and says, “I can pay for that.”

 

Shaking his head, Derek sits down in the middle of the sofa. “It’s okay. Nothing a little wax won’t fix.” Probably. Hopefully.

 

Stiles takes a moment, shoulders relaxing slightly as he takes in the small room. In the meanwhile, Derek observes Stiles and wonders what to say. Where does he start? _How_ does he start? Should he explain what happened? Or maybe he should tell Stiles how he feels? God, how do people _do_ this?

 

Mentally Derek feels like he’s drowning in options. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. His brain scrambles in search of an answer. And Stiles clears his throat, asking, “So, emm-”

 

“I’d have a threesome with Emma Stone and Michael B. Jordan too,” is what Derek’s brain deems an appropriate thing to say.

 

Horror floods him _instantly_. What the hell compelled him to say _that_ right off the bat?

 

Stiles stares at him in confusion. “What?”

 

The connection between Derek’s brain and mouth has broken, like a kit-kat. “I saw this video of you and your friends on a boat, talking about who you guys would have sex with and you said Emma Stone and Michael B. Jordan. And I thought that was really hot.”

 

 _‘What the hell is going on with me!?’_ Derek mentally yells at himself, ready to get up and just walk out before he turns into a mortified puddle on the sofa.

 

But he hangs tight when Stiles’ face turns pink and he squeaks, “ _Seriously_?”

 

Derek nods, feels his own face turning hot. He can only imagine how _red_ his cheeks must be right now. It’s a small comfort to know Stiles is just as nervous and embarrassed as Derek himself.

 

He watches Stiles fidget in place, hand reaching back to scratch behind his ear before asking, “Does that... When you say that, are you telling me you’re bi or that you thought me having a threesome with Emma and Michael was hot?”

 

“Both,” Derek admits sheepishly. His voice goes lower as he continues, “And that I like you. A lot.” He wants to add on, ‘but I think you already knew that,’ but Derek’s courage leaves him.

 

Stiles lets out an awed, “Oh,” before dropping down on the sofa next to Derek. It’s difficult to keep his eyes from drifting over to Stiles’ knees. Derek greedily takes in the sight, eyes travelling up until he’s looking right at the other boy’s dazed face. “Does that mean if I try to hire you as my private tutor you’d agree?”

 

Blinking in surprise, Derek asks, “What?”

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to tell you this, but Derek. You’re really hot. Like, super, mega, ultra hot! And I like you. I mean, _really_ like you! I like all of you! Your stupid eyebrows when they do that judgy raise when people order something that’s too sweet. Your hands. Your _arms_. And your abs. God, do I love your abs.” Stiles winces mid-ramble. “Not that I was staring at your abs that time that lady made you spill coffee all over yourself and you had to go change and I brought you a new t-shirt because I didn’t! I mean, what I saw before I ran out was really exceptional. You’ve got exceptional abs. And arms. An exceptional everything, really, that I wanna be with. That totally sounds like I just want to buy you, doesn’t it? But it’s more than that! What I’m trying to say is, be my boyfriend! And tutor. Be my tutor boyfriend.”

 

“Tutor... boyfriend?” Derek asks, feeling a bit like Wile E. Coyote after he’s been left in the dust by the Road Runner.

 

Stiles nod his head hard and fast. “Yeah! I’ll pay you three times what you make here!”

 

Three ti- Derek feels his eyes bug out in shock. “That’s not enough?” Stiles asks. “What about four times? Or five? Whatever you want, I’m willing to pay it! I just want some time alone for us. I want you in my room. I wanna drive us back to my home and drag you to my room, kiss you until you tell me we need to study, and then I’ll keep distracting you with kisses whenever you do.”

 

Derek’s not sure what his emotions are doing. They’re all overwhelmingly positive, sure, but they’re still all over the place. He wonders if someone was to somehow combine a birthday party, a Christmas party, and a New Years party together into one event, would it feel like how he’s feeling right now?

 

“Just to be clear,” Derek asks carefully, “you want to hire me as your ‘tutor’ as an excuse to make out with me?” Doesn’t Stiles have a straight A’s? Or has Isaac lied to him? He's inteligent enough to not need a tutor.

 

“Yes. I’ll be paying you to make out with me,” Stiles freezes, expression shifting into horror as he realizes what he’s just said. It happens so fast it’s a tiny bit amusing. “I didn’t mean to say it like that! I’m so sorry! I totally implied you’re some kind of prostitute didn’t I? I mean, no. But yes. But also no? Ugh, never mind, I take that back. It’s a yes! I just want to make out with you okay dude? Like, _a lot_. I wanna do so many things with you, _all_ the time!”

 

Derek watches Stiles’ pink face duck down, hands sliding into his thick hair to grab two fistfulls and pull. The groan Stiles lets out is deep and pained. “I’m sorry, I’m making a total mess out of this. I’m really not trying to sound like such a rich boy asshole, but I swear I make up for my shortcomings with my money and pretty face.”

 

It would be rude to laugh at Stiles’ expression, wouldn’t it? Derek hides his smile by lowering his gaze, going so far as to bite his bottom lip. It’s not the first time he’s heard Stiles’ nervous babbling, but it’s still pretty endearing. More so maybe because Stiles is talking about him, and how he feels for Derek.

 

“ _Please_ tell me my pretty face is making up for all my asshole behavior right now,” Stiles begs, “because I don’t have much going for me right now.”

 

It’s impossible to hold his smile in. Derek slowly looks up, smiling wide and happy at Stiles before nodding. “It is,” he says before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Stiles’ lips.

 

His heart skips a beat or two at the gentle contact. A big part of him cannot _believe_ he just did that. Stiles sucks in a loud, surprised breath. Derek’s close enough to _feel_ the air being sucked away. He pulls away, swallowing hard, suddenly feeling shy and scared.

 

“Is that a yes?” Stiles asks after a long, pregnant pause.

 

Derek nods. And then remembers Stiles’ proposal. “To the boyfriend part. Not the tutor part. You don’t have to pay me to make out with me or to help you study.”

 

Stiles’ expression twists into a mixture of embarrassed pleasure. “I was thinking under pressure, you can’t hold that against me,” the teenager grumbles, leaning over to nudge his shoulder against Derek’s.

 

Silently, he promises himself to hold it over Stiles’ head for as long as he can. Derek’s confident he can get a lot of mileage out of this.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Stiles threatens, poking the side of Derek’s face this time. “Or else I’m never gonna let you live down the threesome comment.”

 

Flushing in embarrassment, Derek mutters, “Shut up.”

 

Stiles laughs, a broad smile splitting his lips open. It’s blinding. Like the sun coming out from behind a dense patch of rain clouds. In that split second, Derek suspects the last twenty odd minutes have been nothing but an elaborate, hyper-realistic daydream he’s been having while making someone’s coffee.

\--

**(Several months later - Summer Vacation)**

 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Derek groans, hands busily tugging Stiles’ shirt out of his skinny jeans and getting his hands on heated skin. Stiles is a fucking menace on a good day because of his oral fixation, but add in skinny jeans and he’s a danger to Derek’s concentration. It makes his brain blank out long enough to allow himself being dragged away into a dark corner by Stiles.

 

It’s only his third week on the job working as temporary secretary to the Beacon Hills chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution. It’s a non-profit women’s organization, meaning he technically shouldn’t have this job, but Derek’s got an in. He’s not sure _how_ Stiles managed to convince his mother to hire Derek, but Derek’s not asking. He’s getting paid more in his summer vacation than he’ll make all _year_ at the Joint. With the added bonus of running into Stiles. Frequently. In various closets and empty rooms in the Martin-Stilinski house.

 

Stiles hums happily, too busy sucking Derek’s bottom lip to give a more appropriate answer. He _had_ been the one to grab Derek and pull him into the nearest supply closet, ignoring his boyfriend’s comments about needing to get some papers copied. Derek doesn’t know what he’d been expecting really.

 

“Relax,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s mouth, fingers busily unbuckling Derek’s belt before dealing with his jeans’ button. They’ve been doing this long enough for them to figure out how to undress each other in the dark, but it still feels so _wicked_ and exciting when Stiles’ fingers slip under soft cotton and grab his half hard dick. “Mom’s too busy with the other DAR ladies to pay attention to where we went off too. They never notice where you go when they have their meetings.”

 

True. They never do notice whenever Stiles’ sneaks Derek out. But still. Derek tries to glare down at his boyfriend, who is making happy noises while mouthing against Derek’s cock. “We’re going to get caught one of these days. _Fuck_!” Derek throws his head back against the wall, wincing at the pain that shoots down his spine, but he quickly forgets about it thanks to the way Stiles is licking and nosing against his balls.

 

“Not today.” Stiles’ words are a warm rush of air against his tightening balls. “Not ever. Lydia’s watching out for us. She promised to text me if someone came looking for us.”

 

Oh right, Lydia attends the DAR meetings. Derek wonders how she doesn’t go to sleep out of sheer boredom. Derek’s only attended _one_ meeting, where he’d been introduced to the members as the new secretary, and it had been more boring than anything Derek’s ever known.

 

He makes a mental note to thank Lydia, maybe even get a gift (maybe some of his mom’s cupcakes) and forgets everything but Stiles’ name as he _really_ gets into the blowjob. Derek brings a hand up to cover his mouth, scared that someone might hear him. It’s a huge house, but there’s always a maid or butler around so it’s entirely possible...

 

Derek loses his train of thought, desperately trying not to break apart at the seams. His pleasure rockets into the sky, going higher and higher as Stiles’ mouth goes all the way down and swallows. Derek feels his legs tremble, hips jerking up into Stiles’ hot mouth, mouth falling open under his palm and letting out a _broken_ moan as he comes.

 

His legs give out. Derek crumples to the floor in an ungainly heap, legs spread around Stiles’ knees. He’s remembering how to breathe, staring bewildered at Stiles’ face as he coughs and swallows, then grins. “So that’s what come-dumb looks like.” The hoarse quality of Stiles’ voice makes Derek wish he was hard all over again. “It’s a good look on you.”

 

With shaking hands, Derek reaches out to grab Stiles’ face and kiss him, slow and syrupy sweet. He feels Stiles _melt_ against him, hands sliding up to cling to Derek’s shirt. They kiss over and over again, the contact reducing to them breathing against each others mouths when Derek’s hand slides down into Stiles’ pants and wraps around his cock.

 

They’re wrapped up in each others arms, sharing soft, chase kisses when Stiles’ phone blares like an emergency siren. “What the hell?” Derek succinctly asks.

 

Stiles however, is cursing and checking his phone. “Mom’s asking where you are. We need to move.” He pushes himself up to his feet, muttering curses under his breath when he realizes he’s come all over his shirt. “I need to keep hand wipes on me or something if we’re gonna keep doing this.”

 

Derek follows his lead, quickly tucking himself in and zipping his jeans up before scooping up the papers scattered on the floor. It’s when he’s straightening up does he realize what a crumpled mess his button down looks like now. “Shit,” he curses under his breath.

 

“Hmm?” Stiles asks, one hand on the door, body turned towards Derek.

 

Tugging at his shirt, Derek answers, “I need a new shirt or you need to find me an iron.”

 

Stiles gives the crumpled shirt a critical look. “It doesn’t look _that_ bad. There’s no way you can tell you just had crazy good sex with your boyfriend.”

 

Snorting, Derek steps behind Stiles and rests his hand on top of Stiles’ hand on the door handle. “How else would you explain the rumpled shirt and sex smell?” Derek asks dryly as they open the door together.

 

“Vigorous self love session?” Stiles jokes, linking their fingers together even as he pulls Derek in the direction of his room. “C’mon. I think I might have a shirt that could fit you. I’ll tell Lydia to stall.”

 

Derek happily allows himself to be dragged away, clutching Stiles’ with one hand and the DAR papers in the other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://candypinkcocks.tumblr.com)


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